Breathless
by magnessina
Summary: "He has never seen the appeal of sex before." a short non-magical AU ficlet and prompts from that verse.
1. Breathless

**A/N: a very short non-magic AU ficlet, posted previously on tumblr. My first Rumbelle thing, about which I was so very worried, you've no idea. Hope you enjoy. **

**It is to be treated as complete, although I got some prompts from tumblr readers, which will be published as next chapter(s).**

**Also, gosh, I feel like I totally stole the title from my favourite POTO author, but it occured to me after I've posted it on tumblr, so I'm so so sooo sorry, Edka!**

* * *

He had never seen the appeal of sex.

Honestly, he hadn't.

There is this stereotype, isn't there? Men are said to think about sex every few minutes, to _beg _their wives for a quickie – or any sort of attention, really – and if their wives are… unwilling, they simply find what they crave in other women.

Mr Gold was quite certain there was something wrong with him, then.

His marriage to Milah, short as it was, did nothing to wake that part of him. He found her beautiful, true, and he was pretty sure he loved her. For a while, at least. Nonetheless, their first time was awkward and not _that_ spectacular at all; it didn't get any better after that, sadly. At some point they stopped trying altogether.

And he was relieved.

He didn't have to come home in the evening anxious, wondering whether his wife would want to… do that again.

So when he wakes up in the middle of the night, panting, with his palms fisting the sheets and his cock painfully hard, he is quite shocked.

What surprises him even more is realising who he has been dreaming about.

Miss French.

_Belle_.

Storybrooke's new librarian.

A very young, very beautiful and very bright woman.

A woman who doesn't find him intimidating but smiles at him when he visits her library to collect the rent, and who laughs at his snarky remarks on pretty much everyone who lives in Storybrooke. A woman who seems very intelligent and who's got a great sense of humour.

And also a woman who wears the shortest and ridiculously girly skirts, the prettiest blouses hugging her soft curves and those _bloody heels _that make her legs look like a sin.

Yes. It is surprising.

Recalling his dream, Mr Gold sighs deeply.

Perhaps, sex with the right person can, after all, be appealing.


	2. Off Balance

**Prompt by ****_anonymousnerdgirl:_**_Breathless prompt: Gold catches Belle as she falls from a step ladder in the library. It's the first time he's ever touched her in spite of weeks of longing._

* * *

Mr Gold has never been so nervous about collecting rent before.

Ever.

It has been almost three weeks since those damn dreams started.

Yes, _dreams_. He would wake up almost every night nowadays, breathless, his head full of images of Miss French. Somehow, she was always the protagonist.

At first he was glad. Happy, even. He finally responded in a healthy way to a very beautiful woman; for the first time in his life he felt like a real, normal man.

The lack of interest in women had been truly a little bit worrying.

But those dreams keep happening and it is getting… _uncomfortable_, for Mr Gold absolutely refuses to take matters into his own hands, so to speak. He hasn't jacked off since he was a teenager so he will most certainly not do this now, when he is a respectable forty-three-year-old.

However, now that he is about to visit Miss French in her library, he so wishes he had.

He takes a deep breath before walking in into the building.

"Miss French?" he calls out when he doesn't see her at the reception desk.

"In here," she answers. Gold follows the sound of her voice and _holy hell this is going to be hard. _

Uh, _difficult_, that is.

He finds her without any problems; she's sorting some books in the romance section.

The thing is, Miss French is standing on a step ladder.

Not a very high one, no.

But high _enough _for her perky bum to appear right in front of his eyes.

She's wearing a simple black shirt, that clings to her body in a very distracting way, and a puffy blood-red skirt, which is definitely way too short. Not that he'd ever complain about it. On the contrary, wearing a longer skirt could be considered a crime as far as Miss Belle's legs are concerned.

"I, uh, came," he _can't _remember the reason why he visited her here; not when he notices the pumps she's wearing. "Rent. I came to collect rent," Gold clears his throat.

"Oh, of course, Mr Gold," she laughs a little. "Let me just finish with these and I will- _oh bloody hell_," she squeals.

Many things are happening all at once.

She loses her balance as she turns around to put the book on the shelf.

He drops his cane.

She falls down.

He catches her instinctively.

His bad ankle screams in agony but he can't even be bothered to pay any attention to its protests; not when he's holding Belle in his arms and she's so soft and warm and tiny and she smells _oh so beautifully_ and she's smiling at him and she's just so damn close.

Gold cannot help himself. He recalls his dreams; how she would gasp for air in these visions, how she would moan his name, how _good_ it felt to ravish her.

He can feel his trousers tightening and he nearly drops Belle himself.

"Looks like you're my hero today, Mr Gold," she murmurs, still beaming at him. He makes sure she's standing up properly before he lets her go.

"Yes, looks like it," he grumbles.

"I think I owe you a cup of coffee," she tells Gold as she hands him the cane. Then she disappears. He follows her to her desk, quite awkwardly.

"Whatever for?"

"You saved my life! I could've broken my neck or something!"

"I think you shouldn't wear such shoes to work, Miss French. It's dangerous," Gold shrugs, hiding the envelope she gave him in his pocket.

"Yes, yes, thank you, but no. So, about that coffee?"

"I will, ah- it's no matter. You don't owe me anything, Miss French."

"But-"

"Goodbye," he bids before she can say anything else.

"We're not done here," she giggles.

_Cold shower. _

_Please please please._


	3. Much Too Much

**To be honest, I didn't expect you to approve of this verse so much; I'm glad you do, though! Thank you for each and every review/favourite/follow. I appreciate you giving this story a shot so much. **

**Due to popular demand, here's the next installment. I've got one more planned. However, this is an open-prompt verse — should you have any ideas or wishes as to how this story should continue — drop me a line, here or on tumblr (lilygarlands is my name there.)**

**This ficlet is rated T. Enjoy!**

* * *

A few days after that step ladder fiasco, Mr Gold's ankle is still in an extremely bad shape. He can barely walk, even with the help of his cane — while Belle was certainly not heavy, it was enough for his lame leg to completely refuse to cooperate.

And God, is he angry about that.

That damn ankle reminds him with his every step — literally — that he cannot compete with younger men. Belle is, what, twenty five? Twenty six? And he is old, crippled, vile and hated by everyone in this stupid town.

It's best he gives up now, tries to get over this silly infatuation with the girl and goes on with his life.

Easier said than done, though.

Mr Gold groans when he hears the bell chim. It means he has to get up and deal with whoever came to visit and he wishes he had closed this place earlier today.

He is so not in the mood.

It changes when he sees who exactly just entered his pawnshop.

Yes, his mood gets even worse.

"Hello, Mr Gold!" Belle greets him, smiling. He raises his eyebrow and clears his throat.

"Miss French? Is there anything with which I can help you?"

"Well, you did save my life," she laughs, casting a look at her hands. Only then does Gold notice that Belle's holding two cups of coffee, most probably ones she bought at Granny's. It's true, she did say something about owning him some coffee, but he dismissed it. He did say it was alright.

So why is she here?

"I told you you didn't have to."

"I wanted to," Belle replies, smiling at him again. "Also, as I was entering your shop, the mayor was driving by. She almost crashed her car when she saw me with these cups. Thought you'd like to know."

"She's gonna go mad, wondering what's going on," Gold chuckles darkly. He does dislike Regina.

Well, and everyone else, actually.

That's not the point.

"Will you accept it or should I just drink both as you watch me?" Gold clears his throat and thanks her quietly, taking the cup from her hand. He takes a sip and sighs quietly; dark, bitter coffee. How did she know?

"I can't believe I've never visited your shop before, Mr Gold," Belle says, looking around. She seems to like what she sees as an even wider smile spreads across her face.

He can't look away.

If that's possible, she looks even more beautiful today. Her hair is straightened and she is wearing a white stripped shirt and one of her notorious skirts, this time black. And so very short.

"Well, Miss French, you probably know that people vist me either when they want to delay their payments or when they're desperate enough to deal with me. Not many of them are interested in antiques."

"That's a pity, I find older things maginificent."

Does it apply to men?, he thinks. Probably not.

"They have this kind of magic about them, you know?," Belle continues. "You look at an item that someone was holding many, many years ago and it's just so fascinating."

"I do agree," he nods.

"Do people really try to delay their payments?"

"You're exceptional, Miss French. Not everyone in this town pays their rent when it's due."

She hums at that, and they spend the next fifteen minutes just talking about various posessions found in Gold's shop. She is truly interested in antiques and as the time progresses, he gets more and more into this topic, as he's never had anyone to talk to about his one true passion.

"As much as I hate to say that, Mr Gold, I'm afraid I have to be leaving you now. I do need to open the library if I want to have the money to pay you," she giggles and despite how much he tries not to, Gold smiles at her.

As she opens the door, he suddenly asks her, "Miss French, may I know how old you are?"

"Why?" She chuckles.

"I don't know. Probably shouldn't have asked but I was wondering why I've never seen you here before— "

"I'm twenty three."

He coughs.

"I graduated last year and instead of staying in Boston, I decided a quiet life in a small town was my true destination. The position of a librarian in Storybrooke was like a gift from heaven, so I moved here in April and here I am."

Four months. She's been here for four months before he really noticed her. He would visit the library every two weeks to collect rent and never looked at her twice.

Perhaps because she could be his bloody _daughter_.

"Goodbye, Mr Gold."

"Goodbye Miss French. Thank you for the coffee."

She offers him one of her brilliant smiles once more and disappers behind the door. He glances down at the bulge in his trousers and sighs deeply. That was to be expcted. He really cannot pretend he is above wanking in the shower.

The problem must be got rid of.


End file.
